Entity.

the Middle.

i’m pushing and i’m pulling as hard as i possibly can with force unlike anything i have ever felt my grip is so tight that my fingers are whitening and maybe maybe if i keep typing on here i will reach a point of understanding a point of conclusion a point of relief a point of energy a diminishing exhaustion clarity clarity where the fuck is the clarity ‘cause i’ve been writing and hoping and expressing and hoping and putting together this puzzle piece and HOPING and using all of the brain power i have to speak words to give you light to give you clarity clarity clarity but its all repetition and its all miserable and i don’t know how much more i can bandage im running so low but im still running
how am i still running?
i just wish that something would fall would drop would make me comprehend a lesson behind all of this pain his pain and my pain and our great pain that falls upon him every single day is it wrong to be happy here is it wrong to love from there is it wrong is it right to struggle is it right to wonder is it right to think deep dark penetrating thoughts it is all so hard sometimes it is so difficult so complex and i can’t save this one and i can not doctor this one and i can not do a damn thing because without the physical i am not enough but it isn’t my fault i didn’t choose this i didn’t pick this one out i didn’t change this i didn’t i PROMISE i didn’t but i am responsible and i am suffering and struggling and pushing and still hoping and holding by the very tip of my fingertips but i’m still holding
how am i still holding?
sometimes when we’re together really together inseparable together as one together i wonder very heavily if you feel the salt run down my cheeks salt that is full of joy as i am full of you it’s as if we’re fighting for something fighting to reach something grabbing at one anothers bones as hard with as much strength as we can reaching for something as we reach for each other shaking one another hurting one another making sure the other is real as we’re against one another how do we fulfill the way we fulfill how is that eye contact that struggle that sex as overwhelming as it is and is it worth the misery your misery maybe the reason why we create such over bearing over whelming time consuming love is because our bodies speak what i can not say they say it gets so hard sometimes and i just want to unmeet you but i need you i need you so badly that you have to be inside me as bare as we possibly can be as often as possible its a necessity not a desire it’s water it’s air and the thought of it makes me stare at our pictures but my eyes are so worn that they droop they are open they are fluttering but they are open
how are they still open?
i’m typing and pounding at these keys never finishing a single thought throwing cryptic messages out the window throwing form out that same window throwing poetry out of that window i am THROWING it out i do not want it right now this is not about art this is about searching this is about feeling this is about love being by far the most painful brilliant emotion that one could feel this is about clarity this is about endings this is about beginnings this is about the ever so rich and essential middles the middle of your pain the middle of your pain holding my pain the middle of self worth the middle of our worth the middle of distance the middle of memory the middle of peaking the middle of beating and pounding the middle of sadness the middle of happiness the middle of fucking puzzles the middle of god damn INFINITE the middle of static through the phone the middle of words on a screen the middle of blue eyes staring the middle of this keyboard the middle of all of these words the middle of one year the middle of searching the middle of openings the middle of holding the middle of running the middle of gasping and weaving the middle of slowing down steps the middle of jogging the middle of walking the middle of legs giving out the middle of collapsing the middle of sitting somewhere and nowhere with hands over my face and a racing heart beat and long, deep, meaningful, full breaths.

Home(s)

I am City and I am Island and I am Suburb, all in one.

The world is obsessed with labels and
My family doesn’t see my pride. I can’t cook Puerto Rican, my Spanish is broken, my curls are hidden, my hips don’t protrude as much as they should, I don’t Salsa correctly, I’m not familiar enough with my history, La Isla is foreign to me. I’ve lost my culture, the swift and strong aura that every Boricua woman needs, my Brown fades in the cold, they think I’ve lost it.

The world is obsessed with labels and
My Bronx friends claim I am not hood enough. I don’t wear the same clothes as I used to, I keep my hair down and straight, I don’t have the thick accent full of Nuyorican slang that I once had. I’ve lost my edge, the intimidation every Bronx girl carries, I’m too soft in the way I speak, they think I’ve lost it.

The world is obsessed with labels and
My suburban friends think I’m over-urbanized. They don’t understand the blunt way in which I address the world, my confrontations are too hard, my curves are shocking, the way I dance is too sensual. My music choice is foul, my voice is too loud, my sentences too harsh. I’ve lost my politeness, the lightness in which my feet hit the ground, I stick out in their majority, they think I’ve lost it.

I am not my stereotypes.

The island runs through my blood, rich & thick, and Puerto Rico is a lifestyle
whether location alters or not.
New York City is mine, and it has taught me survival skills that force my reflexes, and the Bronx borough is an attitude
whether location alters or not.
Westchester’s wealth has refined me, and Hastings’ quiet & observant way of living is engraved in me
whether location alters or not.

Let me make this clear: I haven’t lost a damn thing.

Sometimes my hair is curly, most times it’s straight. Sneakers aren’t important to me but speaking up for myself is. I’m a good listener, quiet when necessary- key term: when necessary. I prefer empenadas over burgers and I don’t speak Spanish- but I’m fluent in Spanglish. I miss the sound of the subway, but I adore the sounds of birds chirping sprinkled on silence. I dance when I hear a rhythm I like, whether it be Salsa or Hip-Hop or acoustic duets. I always express myself when angry. My English is very wordy, and my Nuyorican slang is intellectually placed throughout my language. The city is my home, but the suburbs comfort me. Puerto Rico’s waters are a distance memory, but I keep it close to my heart.

I write this not expecting society to comprehend me. I write this expecting society to accept me, my beautiful variety, my melting pot of identity. Location does not define me- I have always created my own definition.
I sculpt myself. From experience, from preferences, from love.
I sculpt myself from the many homes that I have been fortunate enough to collect throughout these young, hopeful, blessed years of my wonderful life.

TRLB

i first met tifani in an acting class in my local community center in the bronx when i was only 6 years old. at the time, neither of our families had too much money- but what they did have was a knowledge that tiff and i had a need to express ourselves. our mother’s were very similar in the way that they insisted on us taking classes, even if it was just at the center. and although during our first big production tiff had a few years on me, the depth of the script that our late acting teacher and father figure Carlos Laboy had come up with forced us to connect in a way that has lasted from then until now. acting does that to people, you know? i remember being under that seemingly huge spotlight in the half of the room that we called our stage, sitting on a bench with tifani, having to fake tears and hold each other. and from that moment forward…i don’t think we ever really stopped holding each other. even when we don’t talk for weeks and have thousands of miles between us…we can always speak as if not a day has passed.
tifani is one of those woman who needs to have a book written about her. she’s gone through every possible hardship. she’s dealt with broken homes, no homes at all, orientation issues, abuse in every form, she’s been broken down physically and emotionally in her young lifetime more often and with more force then anybody i have ever met. you name it, she’s gone through it… guaranteed.
but one thing she has never struggled with, is identity.
she’s somehow remained the same tifani i met all of those years ago. she loves fiercely, with a passion that few people have. she’s articulate and hot headed all in the same. she’s witty, compassionate, and stronger then any of my female friends- both physically and mentally. she reads people like a psychic and she plans like the world is going to end tomorrow. she’s the most unique person i know… and she has made it her duty to never quit, to sculpt her life to the best of her ability until she reaches the point of perfection that she deserves.
tifani, my older sister, my stage partner in this life full of actors, has blessed the world with a beautiful, intelligent baby girl. and she now fights and loves and pushes obstacles out of her path not only for her, but for this wondrous creation in child form. she lives for leilani. she eats, breathes, smells, tastes, RADIATEs motherhood. she parents with the same passion that she used to hug me on stage that day years ago.
and right now… she’s faced with more struggle. more obstacles. more processes. she tells me of them through this fuckdamn screen miles and miles away and i am incapable of doing a damn thing- i am helpless. all i can do is provide her words of comfort and have faith that she gets through this milestone like she has gotten through the rest. i know how badly she wants to quit sometimes- i know how she feels lost without her mother’s guidance here any longer… but i also know the soldier she is, and has always been.
tifani- you’ve taught me how to be grateful. you’ve taught me how to be mature, how to not take anybody’s shit regardless of who they are, how to communicate, how to keep my chin up. our friendship reminds me that there is more to life then the bubble that these little college girls live in. you’ve shown me that no matter how strong the blow is, i can take it. i can take it because your story- your stories- inspire me to be the best i can be. and although sometimes you may feel unappreciated and alone, just know that i wouldn’t be who i am had i not grown up with you.
i love you lifeline. i really do.

grasp

i’m holding on to the remnants of our three day universe
i’m holding on to the scratchy couch where we spent countless nights wrapped up in one another speaking never ending sentences under blue lighting, to your dresser with my black frames and perfume placed so beautifully next to your cologne, to the sink where i would wrap my arms around you as your hands circled dinner plates, to the shower’s warm embrace and isolated walls, to the porch where i heard you speak and discovered perfection, to long tangled sunday’s and terrible monday’s, to unheard closeness and surreal communication
to wisdom teeth removal ramblings & nothing to do is everything with you
heart pounding promises
confidence that reached another atmosphere

i’m holding on to no questions asked
i’m holding on to no matter what

today’s notes in the margin

my love poems have always been clumsy, thrown together, messy and unfit. they never resemble the soft tones that reside in sweet rhythm and blues, they don’t flow like baby blue spring water the way i desperately wish they would.
but i need to keep trying, i need to accomplish this, i need to create a love poem that people feel in the heart of their minds, and the minds of their heart.
i need to write something that forces people to shiver… in the same way i shiver when his fingertips trace maze-like lines on the palm of my hand during the steady start of daylight, when the world is paused in the middle of it’s quietest moment and comprehension of surroundings is insignificant because the only things i could possibly care about in that moment-
are his fingertips.  

and each time you say it won’t happen again

man has no power over me unless it is physical strength and the alphaness of you being able to pin me down with your sin ridden fingers makes me cringe at night
my eyelids are pulled open during twilight or rather during the death of day and im remembering the smell of dirt particles winding me and although it’s a blur i can feel the details exploding in the exact middle part of my brain and spreading like sickness like illness like disease throughout the lonely parts of my body that have craved touch but not that touch not that one please not that one not that skin it is not skin it is weapon it is filth it is disgust it is all over every crevice of me weakening me reminding me that the almighty is not so mighty reminding me that independence only goes as far as mental reminding me that cruel is a word that will always exist reminding me that i am alone that i am tainted that i have fallen and that i will fall periodically forever until the death of my physical not my mental because she dies all of the time continuously in bits and pieces as she is reminded of the pushes and grips and force the force she does not posses the strength she has always wanted the mountain she can not climb the place she had never wanted to go to the cave the crawl the cry all of it bunches together until it is a solid component of memory rock hard bruising me with it’s solidity keeping me up during the death of day blurred but presently crisp like a newfound sickness illness disease that is spread over me and in me i wanted one but not that touch not that one please not one please please please not that one ever again and again and again every single long day again and again.

IV (for my brothers)

my Father’s thick, bruised, rich blood
runs through Four Men
who sweat gleaming drops of strength
and soul
iron soul
indestructible soul
uniquely structured soul
sculpted soul
with few elements alike
but the similarity in artwork speaks with an emphasized tongue
a quick tongue, a new yorked tongue, a witted tongue
that forms seemingly harmless darts made of heart-
Julian’s tongue is one of waves, surges of built up information
electricity that sounds like complex rhythm
which illuminate moral-
moral, and thought.
moral and thought that bubble forcefully in the body of Andres’ heart-
softer then steel, opaque and shining, full of simplicity that is
more beautiful then any other earthly existence.
existence that shouts in soothing octaves through Ariel’s pounding, powerful hands
hands that work to, with a glowing charm, improve
mold & form, shape & build
others, himself, society, and above all- family
his glowing charm wreaks of the light hearted comic moments that only Rigo knows how to obtain & sustain
just as he sustains his values, his past recordings that he replays for us with selfless hopes that we grasp a bit of his knowledge and store it for the rainy days he knows will reach us-
because that is the way these Four Men operate,
they teach and they shine
they learn and they keep
they ingest each others individually shaped identities
and they perform, and they protect their shared sister
while she grabs at their sculptures,
trying to posses a piece
of each.

WHERE IS THE MOTHERFUCKING PASSION IN EDUCATION?

why is it that this country, built on all of these fallacies which preach about equality & fairness & all things morally wonderful, PRIDE itself on successful people needing money in order to become successful (financially as well as socially speaking) members of society?!
please allow me a minute of venting from the eyes of a real fucking student.
the fact of the matter here is that in order to make something of yourself in this corrupt nation you need to go to college as well as graduate school- and occasionally MORE school on top of that. and that’s all good- i understand that- i understand and appreciate the value of education. unlike most students in college who go to school for the sake of knowing that they can’t make it without that god damn piece of paper stating you have a degree… which ultimately leads to college being full of people who are either not true intellects or who don’t really want to be there, making the experience less enjoyable for those of us who actually give a fuck. college is no longer sacred- it’s no longer a place for those who crave knowledge, who love the sound of chalk on a board and the smell of a textbook bubbling with information. and this unsacred place, this higher education, requires money. a LOT of money.
money that normal people do not have to spare  (because of America and it’s wages/middle class treatment). So we have all of these demands for college, and all of these expenses for college, that we simply can not do anything about. and i don’t even need to hear this bullshit about scholarships because there are not enough and half the time the requirements are unrealistic. how are these lower middle class students supposed to get academic scholarships when they have to work on top of school?! do you know how difficult it is so balance playing your part at home while doing school work and going to actual work? that shit is hard. something is always sacrificed and i guarantee you that those with scholarships have a social life that is very, very minimal. and what’s the point of living if you can’t even enjoy being young because you’re so concerned with getting the grades you need in order to achieve a scholarship in order to go to college? the whole thing is unfair and stressful and ridiculous.
so since we can’t all get scholarships, and we don’t all have money for college, and the financial aid requirements aren’t fair, what does that mean? LOANS. shit ton’s of loans. yeah, it’s nice for now. but it won’t be in ten years when i’m busting my ass to get out of the massive debt i’m in because i needed to go to college in order to achieve greatness. basically we either suffer financially right now, or later in life.
and even when we’re all attending college with our loans pending- we still have to struggle. we’re broke college kids- and those of us who have jobs either get little to no sleep or we get sleep and have no social life. if we want to be in clubs, we have little time for sleep and or studying and or our job. or our social life suffers. if we don’t have a job but we have a social life and are involved in clubs, our studies suffer as well as our financial issues. do you see what i’m getting at? something always has to give- and ALL of those situations are bad for my health being that i need extra sleep in order to be a productive student. they’re all lose lose situations where i’m constantly in pain one way or another, whether it’s physical or emotional or mental.
people preach that there are too many idiots on the internet trying to make it big- well why the fuck do you think that is? it’s because people want to find wealth without having to go through all of the bullshit listed above. so we have kids and adults and teenagers on youtube pretending to be funny or engaging in painful activities or sadly attempting to be rappers in order to somehow achieve fame and fortune. our generation is desperate because there is no other way besides the unfair way that is higher education.
we are producing assholes. assholes who don’t truly care about knowledge, who have no passion and no true desire to be at school. assholes who try to find loop holes in life in order to find financial stability. what we really need is to produce heroes- world heroes who have passion, who want to help, who are not constantly worried about the connection between money & success. but until things change and society stops forcing students to give up money they don’t have in order to be successful in the U.S- there is no passion in education. just constant struggle, one way or another.

distance.

 i am so scared of what the next few days of my life are going to lead to.
i have been sitting with my journal for far too long, crossing things out, creating dents in pages from pushing down too hard when attempting to write. i have tried so hard to formulate a cryptic and poetic way of expressing the deep sense of fear that i have. i wanted to write it down and not post it on here. i wanted to write it down so that i could somehow come to a conclusion, a solution, a better understanding of the changes about to occur in my life. i didn’t want to post anything like that on here because i am not sure how i feel about people knowing so much about my relationship-
but isn’t that what i have always said that art is about? being completely open, exposed in every way possible. art is about being bare and comfortable and beautiful all at the same time. and these posted emotions- this fear & love tangled into one that i am having difficulty dealing with- will only be helped when i turn it into art.
so I’m putting down my pen, and laying it all down, right here, on this keyboard- on this website, for anyone to see.
i am scared.

you see, everybody always talks about finding love- how badly they want it, how wonderful it is when they get it. the bliss, the amazement… but few talk about what happens once they have it. about living your life with someone else and the changes you must go through. love is change, isn’t it? your feelings change, your views change, your thoughts and plans and decisions. because when you have love- you’re living next to someone. not always physically, but your life is next to theirs, entwined with theirs, merged with theirs.
i have never dealt well with change.
it’s a flaw that i have always hated, especially at this age where change is so present and constant. sometimes it comes by choice- school, classes, living arrangements, jobs… and sometimes it doesn’t. sometimes it just happens, suddenly and quickly.
this was one of those times.
you see, he and i had mapped out roughly the next couple of years of our lives given that we remained together. so when things suddenly switched up and i realized that his location would completely change the present and future, i was at a loss.
dont get me wrong- i didn’t decide to be in a relationship because of the convenience but yes…that helped. & once the convenience factor was left out of the equation, i was very, very confused.
and eventually, the thought settled itself in my brain-
i was going to be in a long distance relationship.
distance. such a small word for such a huge concept.
i would no longer be able to count down hours until i could hold his engulfing and perfect hand. the euphoric smell of his cologne would no longer be present on my clothing, in my hair, around my room. his soothing laugh was going to be technologically transported into my head, rather then directly in my ear. so much of him would be intangible for extended periods of time- & just the idea of it made my ache both internally and externally.
hours upon hours of torture ensued after i found out. torture in the form of me battling myself with negatives, reasons why we may not work, constant questioning and child like pleads of ‘please dont go’. panic attacks and anger and sadness. i was a baby in a constant state of temper tantrum… it’s almost silly, now that i think about it.
the worst part about it is that i knew he was doing what was best for him. i wanted him to do what was best for him. and once i realized that love is change, i had to make a choice. do i commit to this struggle? the work that is about to come with this change? most importantly, are we worth the pain?
and as i asked myself these questions, it hit me- i said we. i asked if we were worth the pain. there is a we now…my life is lived merged with another. this distance is not about me, it’s about what is best for him and how we will work around this change to continue living our lives as comfortably as possible with one another as the center piece.

i still have my moments, I’m still scared, i still doubt, and i still don’t know how well this is going to work. but what i do know is that even with the difficulty that this will come with- i chose to be in a relationship. i changed my life so that another person’s life is as important to me as my own. and with that commitment, i committed myself to try my best to make it work because there is a we now- and we are worth it.

that’s what matters, more then any tangible hugs or kisses.
and besides, i know those will be built up waiting for me every time i go home.